The Battles We Fight
by Knope.We.Can
Summary: What made Beca build her walls so high? A Beca-centric one-shot that takes a look into her past. (not the greatest description, sorry) Bechloe. Rated T for theme and language. Trigger warning.


**A/N: Hey kiddos, me again!**

**So this one-shot is full of things that actually happened to me. Almost all of it in fact. (Except I don't have a Chloe)**

**Trigger warnings for self-harm.**

**My inbox on here and on tumblr is always open if anyone ever needs to talk. (massivedrickhead . tumblr. com)**

* * *

Beca Mitchell remembers being a kid, lying in bed, crying as she woke up from yet another nightmare. Sweat had plastered the hair to her face, and her legs were cramped up, but she didn't dare move from under her covers, curled up as small as she could make herself.

Her mom came into her room one night, pulling back the covers and handing her a glass of water.

"What is it, sweetie?" She asked. "What are you scared of?"

Beca shrugged, pulling her knees up to her chest.

"If you don't tell me, I can't help you," she said.

Beca shifted on the bed, staring down at her hands.

"Mom, what if the world ends?" She said, voicing the fear that had been eating her up for the past few weeks. "What if there's a nuclear bomb or a massive earthquake, or... or the sun explodes? What if we all just die?"

Her mom was quiet for a bit.

"I can't help with that, baby," she said, kissing her daughter on the head, and switching off her light.

Beca lay back down, and stared up at the ceiling until the room got light around her.

She never asked for help again.

Beca remembers being a teenager, sitting in her room silently staring at her computer screen.

Inside she was screaming.

Inside she was smashing her room apart. Pulling down posters. Punching mirrors. Shouting. Crying.

She carried on staring at the computer, her face expressionless, clicking through web-pages.

**Depression: Symptoms**

Click.

**Depression: Causes**

Click.

**Depression: Treatments**

Click.

_What right do you have to be depressed? You're just a whining, miserable, loser. _

She remembers picking up a pair of scissors, hesitating.

_It might make you feel better._

She ran the scissors across her wrist, not hard enough to do anything other than scratch her slightly.

_If you're going to do it, do it properly, you fuck-up._

She dug in harder, feeling the sting of the metal cutting into her skin. Tiny droplets of blood began forming.

It was the first of many many cuts she made across her wrists and arms.

She remembers the day her dad and step-mom had called her into the living room.

"Roll up your sleeves, Beca," Sheila said. She looked to her dad, panic rising in her.

"Please, Beca," he said.

She did.

She cried.

He cried.

Sheila got mad.

She begged them not to tell her mom.

She promised she'd stop.

He promised not to tell her.

That night, she overheard the phone call between her dad and mom.

They hadn't spoken in eight years.

And now her dad was crying into the phone that their daughter was cutting her wrists.

She made a silent promise to herself never to trust her parents again.

She remembers talking with the school counsellor.

She was a nice woman, with soft green eyes and a warm smile.

She made Beca feel important.

She made her feel like someone was listening.

When Beca relapsed, the counsellor asked her why she'd done it.

"I don't know," Beca said, looking down at her hands. "I just feel unhappy."

"Why?"

Beca couldn't answer.

After that, the counsellor started distancing herself.

She would cancel their appointments, or cut them short.

Beca realised she probably couldn't help her anymore.

Her friends had begun getting tired of listening to her talk about it.

Now they initial drama of the situation had passed, they were getting bored of black cloud she dragged with her wherever she went.

One afternoon, Sheila asked her if maybe it was time she "got over it."

Beca made a silent promise to herself to hide her emotions from now on.

She promised not to trust anyone. Not to confide in anyone. She'd only get attached.

They'd only get tired of her.

She built up her walls.

She mastered the fake smile.

She never wore short sleeves.

She started cutting again.

At college, she finally made friends again.

She met a boy.

He was sweet.

He liked her.

She liked him.

"Stay at my place tonight," Jesse said.

"I dunno, Jess," she said, a familiar nervousness filling her up.

"Come on," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "No funny business, I promise."

"Okay," she said.

That night, she lost her virginity.

She went back to dorm after, and cried.

She was confused and she felt sick.

She wanted to lock herself away from the world, and she didn't know why.

Her thoughts were running too fast.

_It shouldn't feel like this. _

She cut herself again for the first time in months.

She stayed in her dorm room for a week before she met up with him again.

"Jess," she said, her heart pounding, as she stared at the coffee table in his apartment. "Jess, I need to tell you something."

His arm was around her waist, his other hand resting on her knee. She picked up his hand and held it.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I think... I know... Jesse, I'm bi," she said, still not looking at him.

"You like girls?"

"Yeah," she said. "I just felt like I needed to tell you. I didn't want to hide it anymore, it's been fucking with my head a bit."

"Are you sure you're not just gay?"

"I'm sure," she replied.

"Because I had a friend who said he was bi and then eventually just came out as gay."

"I'm sure I'm bi and not gay, Jesse," she said, an edge to her voice.

"Okay," he said. "I think it's great that you told me."

She spent the night again.

"Tell me something about you that I don't know," he said, as they lay together.

She thought about her scars and cuts, but she couldn't form the words to tell him, so she just stayed silent.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing," she replied.

_I just don't want to be here anymore._

_I don't want to be anywhere anymore._

The next day, she walked back and thought her chest was about to crush her.

The sky was whiter that she'd ever seen it.

The world around her didn't seem real.

The people didn't seem real.

She didn't feel real.

She couldn't breathe.

She wondered if her dorm room was high up enough that a fall from the window would kill her.

Jesse text her that night.

**Jesse: Are we still good for tomorrow?**

**Beca: Can we reschedule?**

**Jesse: Are you kidding me? You know I switched my shift with Luke so we could hang out.**

**Beca: I just don't feel up to it. I have an essay due.**

**Jesse: So write it with me?**

**Beca: Please, Jess. We can hang out the day after.**

**Jesse: You keep doing this. You keep putting me last. Do you even want to be with me?**

**Beca: You just don't understand how fucked up I am, Jesse. You think I'm your dream girl but I'm not. **

**Jesse: What do you want, Beca?**

**Beca: I can't do this anymore.**

He begged her all night, before sending one final, crushing text.

**Jesse: Clearly trying to get any kind of emotion out of you was impossible. You don't have feelings. I can't believe you've done this to me.**

**Beca: I'm sorry.**

She was crying harder than she had cried in years.

She gripped her hair in her hands and pulled it.

She was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

_I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die_

Her phone vibrated on her desk.

She had a text from Chloe.

Just seeing her name on her phone made her feel better.

**Chloe: I'm coming over.**

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Chloe walked in. She took one look at Beca before pulling her into her arms.

"Jesse changed his relationship status on facebook," she said. "Are you okay?"

"I just couldn't do it anymore," she said. "I'm the worst person. I'm scum. I'm a bitch-"

"Stop it," Chloe said, firmly. "You are not a bad person for taking care of yourself for once. Do not say things like that about yourself."

Beca held onto Chloe, letting the sobs rip through her.

"I've been really unhappy," she said.

"I know," Chloe replied. "And I know how hard you find opening up. So I'm not going to push you, you just tell me if and when you're ready."

_Chloe._

She was the first person Beca had came out to.

She was the only person who knew Beca inside out.

She was the only person Beca trusted.

She remembers the first time Chloe had seen her scars, a few months after she'd broken up with Jesse.

Instead of freaking out, or running away, she took her arm in her hand, and kissed every single scar.

"I'm going to take care of you from now on," she said. "I promise."

"Don't promise that," Beca said, trying not to cry.

"I'm not leaving," Chloe said.

She remembers the first time they'd kissed.

It felt like a natural progression.

Beca didn't feel like she wanted die anymore.

_Chloe, Chloe, Chloe._

Chloe who kissed her scars.

Chloe who talked her down when she freaked out.

Chloe who understood when she needed space.

Chloe who, when Beca said she was feeling sad, didn't ask why.

She didn't tell her to get over it.

She didn't get tired of her.

She just held her, and kissed her, and helped her fight the demons that stalked her.

Chloe who she loved more than anyone or anything in the world.

Chloe who saved her life, every day.


End file.
